


Under Pressure

by thisbitchempty



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Peter is a Little Shit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Trauma, Underage Drinking, not ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbitchempty/pseuds/thisbitchempty
Summary: It’s 3:24 a.m. when Peter calls, waking Tony to the frantic buzzing of his phone under his pillow. He scrubs a hand over his face as he sits up in bed.“Better be good,” he mutters as he swipes to answer.In which Peter gets drunk off his ass, makes a bad decision, and Tony wonders where the line is drawn. (NOT SHIP)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever completed Spider-Man fic! I had a lot of fun making it. I hope it isn’t too OOC! Enjoy~

It’s 3:24 a.m. when he calls, waking Tony to the frantic buzzing of his phone under his pillow. He scrubs a hand over his face as he sits up in bed.

He lays propped on his elbow for a moment debating going back to sleep. Deciding better, he grunts and reaches for his phone. Squinting, he reads Peter Parker’s name as it flashes across the screen. 

“Better be good,” he mutters as he swipes to answer. 

“Shit. Cancel. Go back. What’re the words?” Peter’s voice squeaks through the phone. His voice contains an off-putting mix of confusion, frustration, and fear. His words are an all too familiar kind of blurry.

“Hang up?” Tony suggests, voice dripping with annoyance. 

“Karen, make it do... Karen hang it-” he giggles- honest to god giggles- and says, “hang it up. Why do we say hang it up, again? Wait, oh yeah! Cause you used to have to hang the phone to stop talking to someone... huh. Mr. Stark, did you ever have to hang up your phone?” 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Tony grunts. 

“Kid, I thought you were hurt or something. Why did you call me? And what’s with your voice? Where are you? Why are you talking to the suit? Are you in it right now?” Tony demands. With each question, he asks he finds himself inching further out of bed. 

The line is quiet for a moment. 

“Peter, answer me.” 

“I dunno. Wait, what’d you ask again? What time is it? I’m tired.” 

“Peter, are you drunk?” Tony’s heart drops slightly during the silence that follows. 

“Yeah, problab- probably.” 

Tony sighs. 

Regarding Peter Parker, this is where things get most tricky for him. On one hand, intoxicated teenage angst Peter is definitely out of his territory. Not his problem. On the other, intoxicated teenage angst Spider-Man entirely is. 

“You’re in the suit?” Tony asks for a second time.

“Yeaahh...” Peter’s voice oozes with guilt. 

“Don’t move. At all. I mean it,” Tony commands before hanging up his phone and muttering, “FRIDAY, send Peter Parker’s location to car number three.”

“Done.” The computers ever-chipper voice responds. 

He finds Peter hunched over in an alley in Queens. He’s wearing a yellow jacket over the blue and red suit with the mask pushed over his face. He was really wearing it. Tony almost couldn’t believe it.

Peter’s face would almost be funny under different circumstances. He looks terrified. That shouldn’t be funny, right? It’s just that it reminds Tony of when he was young and found himself in similar situations. Definitely not funny.

“Talk,” Tony commands towering over him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Peter groans. By now, he seems to have much more control over his words. A part of Tony wants to demand a full lab report on how alcohol effects his body given his enhanced circumstances as a punishment for being an idiot. 

“Jesus, you smell like a shitty liquor store. Start with how much you drank.”

“I dunno. A lot.”

“A lot?”

“Yeah, a lot. Like, a looot.” Peter glares into Tony’s eyes for a moment before staring back down at the wet cement. 

“Okay, well, how did you get ahold of ‘like a lot’ of alcohol?” 

“I was at a party. Apparently I’m really, really bad at drinking games,” Peter mumbles.

“Okay, so I’ve followed you this far. But, now I want you to tell me why you’ve made your problem my problem by acting like a child and putting on the suit after drinking ‘like, a lot’ of alcohol,” Tony spits through gritted teeth. 

“I dunno. My ride bailed on me, surprise,” he says in a way that implies that this turn of events is no surprise at all “and I needed to get home. There was no way I was calling May, so I put the suit on to just very quickly swing home. Somehow though, it decided to call you,” he scoffs before rolling his eyes and adding, “Is this one of your fucking protocols?” 

Tony knows it’s a rhetorical question, but who is he to back down from a challenge? 

“Oh, I’m sure it is. I’ve lost track though. They’ve never failed, have they? And watch your tone with me. This isn’t even my problem. I don’t need to be here. I’m here to save your ass from your aunt May so I can keep you in the game.”

“Which is it? Are you here to save my ass from May or to keep me in the game?” His voice is bitter and tired, nothing like the playful Peter Tony knows. 

“And... and I’d say I’m pretty responsible. Ya know, most of the time. Most of the time,” he adds, his voice tinged with hurt.

He wobbles to his feet and finishes with, “You need to decide if you’re my mentor or my babysitter, ‘cause you’re kinda giving me whiplash.”

Tony scoffs. He knows better than to argue with drunks. Yet here he is.

“Give me a break, kid.”

“No you know what? You give me a break! You can’t just pop in and out of my life when there’s a crisis, just to make yourself feel better.”

“You’re drunk,” Tony says mostly as a reminder to himself. 

But he can’t shake the niggling feeling that the kid has a point. Gross.

Seemingly to illustrate his point, or lack thereof, Peter groans, hunches back over, and throws up on the ground. 

“You need to go home,” Tony notes. Duh. Of course he does. He’s a kid. And he’s drunk. And Tony just spent real time arguing with a drunk kid who just needs sleep. He’s out of his territory. 

Peter jerks up and wipes his mouth.

“Not home. May thinks I’m at MJ’s.” 

Tony rubs his forehead and sighs. 

“And where will you go?”

A haunted look passes over Peters' eyes. 

“MJ’s gonna kill me.”

Tony awkwardly shuffles with Peter up the walkway to MJ’s place. The door swings open as soon as the pair step up to it. 

“Third time this week, asshole.” 

Ah, so this is the famous Michelle Jones. It makes sense. She stands before them in all of her pissed off glory. Her face softens for a moment before she adds,

“You gotta quit scaring me like this.” 

She lightly smacks a hand on Peter’s shoulder and gestures over her own. 

“You know where to go.”

Peter shuffles into her house looking like a scolded dog, leaving just the two of them. 

“Tony Stark.” MJ scans the man up and down. 

“Michelle.” Tony extends a hand to shake which MJ tentatively accepts. 

“Hi.” She keeps her critical gaze trained on his face.

“Thank you for taking him.” Tony steps back. 

MJ looks over her shoulder for a moment before sighing.

“He’s got a real problem bubbling up,” She says as if it’s a plain and simple fact. Maybe it is. 

“I know.” 

She stares at his face for a moment before stepping back through the threshold. 

“Goodnight, Tony Stark.” She shuts the door in his face. What a weird kid. 

As Tony buckles into his car, he thinks to himself. 

He wonders if he should tell May that Peter’s friends think he has a real problem. 

He thinks to himself.

He thinks he’s made a mistake.

He thinks to himself.

He thinks he’s way out of his territory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry for the late update. I’m really swamped with school right now. Thank you all so so much for your comments and kudos. I wrote and rewrote this chapter about 3 times lmao. Unfortunately, this is not some of my best work, but here goes! Enjoy~

Peter doesn’t like to disappoint people. Lately, though, it feels like the only thing he’s good at. He doesn’t just think that in a woe-is-me-teenager kind of way, he genuinely believes that the thing he’s best at is letting people down. 

To his friends, his only family, even his sometimes-mentor, time after time he proves himself a stellar disappointment. He’s always felt like this, but it’s impossible to ignore after Homecoming.

The weird thing is, he doesn’t even remember most of that night until days later. The memories come back in fragments. The first thing he remembers is leaving Liz at the dance and stealing some car. The next thing he remembers is thinking he let his Homecoming date’s dad die in an explosion. Then, he remembers the smell of ash and hot metal and the reason why he didn’t. None of these revelations prepared him for remembering being trapped under tons upon tons of metal and concrete. Nothing could.

It takes time for him to piece these scraps together to form an entire night. By the time he does, Liz is across the country, and her dad is awaiting trial. And things are different now.

He can’t talk to Ned, MJ is suddenly very interested in where he spends his time, and May can’t even look at him without brandishing her ‘oh-my-poor-baby’ eyes, let alone hold a conversation. It’s painfully obvious that no one really knows where to go from here. So he avoids the people in his life and throws himself into patrol. The only initial problem with that is that it’s changed too.

Spider-Man is a symbol to Peter, to his friends, and to Queens. Spider-Man means something to people, that much is true. The only thing is that it means something different to Peter now.

Before, being Spider-Man was like coming up for air after treading water for too long. It was like knocking away the rules that were set against him and being the more powerful version of himself. When he was Spider-Man, he could be who he needed to be for others and himself. 

Being Spider-Man felt like freedom. It smelled like churros bought for him by grateful citizens. It sounded like old ladies thanking him for doing the most simple favors for them. It was who he needed to be.

Then, he got sloppy. 

Then, he blurred the lines between the halves of his life.

Then, he got the shit kicked out of him by his Homecoming dates’ dad. 

Then, the suit began to feel different. 

Now, it feels like concrete, persistently crushing down on his body. It smells like dust, determined to fill his lungs. It sounds like his own cries for help echoing back to him. It feels like a trap. 

He’s constantly bouncing between being uncomfortable at home and being uncomfortable when he leaves. Sleep is an evasive force of nature—his personal Moby Dick. And though he always has it, he doesn’t bother to turn his phone on anymore. He knows he’ll just have to ignore more messages from MJ and Ned. Summer is wack.

One morning Peter wakes before natural light touches Queens. He sighs as he rolls over. Maybe he can snag another half-hour of sleep. It takes five minutes for his legs to start shaking. So maybe not.

He groans and stumbles out of bed. Grabbing the suit, he feels his way out of his room. The only light in the kitchen comes from the soft glow of the microwave clock. 4:16 am. It’s so dark and so quiet, that he fleetingly considers going back to bed. That train of thought is immediately as a shuffle of steps approach and the kitchen is flooded with light. 

He stumbles back and grabs his head. Bright. Head. Light. Ow.

“Ah, god. Can I get a heads up, please? Super senses, remember?“

He opens his eyes to meet May’s tired gaze. Her hands are wrapped around a travel coffee mug. 

“Why are you awake?”

“Peter? I picked up an early shift today. But why are you awake?”

“Oh well uh... I picked up an early shift too I guess,” he chuckles nervously. 

Her face drops. May has an impeccable poker-face, but Peter is impeccable at May Poker. Using his incredible detective skills, he surmises that she’s angry. And worried. But mostly angry. 

They only talked about... hero things once. It was impossible to explain his way out of getting busted in the suit. He had to tell her.

They had one talk—one fight—and they never discussed it again. Peter tries to respect her rules but sometimes... it doesn’t happen. 

“Be safe,” She sighs, dropping her shoulders. She stares at the floor, chewing at the inside of her cheek for a moment before setting her mug down on the counter behind her. 

“We’re having dinner tonight.”

“What? Um, I would, but it’s just that I’m really close t-“

“No. We’re having dinner tonight. I’m cooking. Can you grab eggs from the store on your way home? I need you here by 7:30.”

Peter opens his mouth to object before deciding better. 

“I- I guess.”

“Great.” 

Patrol goes about as smoothly as it ever does. He‘s so close to busting one of the last of Toomes’ clients he can taste it, but there’s been radio silence in the past couple of days. The rust from the old fire escape he observes from stains his suit. He crouches, watching the shabby old warehouse that’s had some reports of weird glowing and noises late at night last week when he remembers his deadline. 

“Oh Shit. Karen, what time is it?” 

“Seven o’clock,” the computer replies.

“Shit shit shit. What’s the fastest way to get eggs from the store and get home?”

“Calculating route now.”

He rips the mask over his nose and pulls his jeans and school sweater over the suit. He glances over his shoulder at the warehouse again before sighing and jumping to the ground to follow Karen’s directions.

He knows he’s almost late, but he doesn’t know what kind of eggs to get. The staring is obviously putting the few people on the store off, but it’s essential. Does May want brown or white eggs? What about small or large? Organic? Name brand or generic? He should’ve asked her in the morning.

He reaches hesitantly for a box of large white eggs in the exact moment he hears snickering behind him. Great. 

He slowly opens the lid to the carton to inspect the eggs. He hopes if he ignores whoever is behind him, they’ll go away. 

Nothing is ever easy for him, is it?

“Hey, Penis Parker! Long time no talk.”

Nope, definitely not. He closes the carton and turns around, moving for the counter.

“Hey, Flash.”

The group of faces surrounding Flash Thompson that Peter doesn’t recognize steps in front of him and bursts into another sound of snickers.

“Oh my god. He answers to that? That’s awesome,” Some big guy in a varsity jacket bemuses. He clearly doesn’t go to Midtown High. Peter counts to ten in his head and takes a deep breath. 

“Hey Penis, you should totally come to this party we’re going to.” Flash grins. His friends’ jaws drop. Somebody nudges him in the arm and whispers in his ear. Flash smiles even wider and whispers back.

“Oh- oh yeah! You should totally come.” The guy smiles. 

Smooth.

“Yeah I uh- I gotta thing.”

“A thing.” Flash crosses his arms.

“Yeah, like a family thing. A family thing I can’t get out of.”

“Sounds like the perfect time for a party.” 

At the time it makes sense, somehow, doing what he’s best at, but the morning later he doesn’t know why he said yes. He doesn’t know why he rode with people he didn’t know in an old cramped car to a neighborhood he didn’t recognize. He doesn’t know why he took their shit and played their games and drank their crap. 

At the time he feels great. People like him. They start to notice how much he can drink at a time and he plays along. He gets out of his head. And it always takes too long, but he finally gets drunk. And he doesn’t shake or remember things he doesn’t want to when he’s drunk. It’s the only fun he’s had for a long time. But nothing is ever easy for him, so parties always end and alcohol always wears off. 

Where can he go? Flash and his wasted friends are no option. Seeing May is no option. So, what does he do? He turns on his phone. 

He turns on his phone and sorts through pages upon pages of texts from MJ, Ned, and May. He hopes to god that spellcheck will do the trick and shoots May an apology text about getting held up at patrol. He sucks in his breath and calls the only person who he can accept to him like this. He calls MJ.

The phone rings six times before she answers. 

“Hello?” MJ’s groggy voice groans through the phone. 

“MJ. I need hl- I need help. Can you, um, do me a favor?”

“Peter? Are you... where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well figure it out, dumbass. Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m okayy... I went to a party with Flash and some other people I don’t really know. I can’t go home.”

“You’re drunk.” She deadpans.

Peter waits a moment before continuing,

“Can I please, please, please stay with you tonight? Just one night?”

There’s a beat. 

“My parents should be very asleep by now, so if you can promise me you’ll keep your drunk ass quiet... you can stay with me. One night.”

Peter sighs and runs a hand through his tangled hair. 

“Thank you so much.”

“Whatever. I’ll text you my address. I can’t drive so figure it out.”

The line goes dead. Great. As a tie for the worst decision of the night, he asks Karen for directions to MJ’s and swings over buildings to get there.

He doesn’t even remember the eggs until morning. 

He wishes he could say that it’s just one shitty night, but of course not. Apparently, he gave his number to a certain amount of people in the night, and those people have a certain amount of parties. 

It feels good to break the rules for once. He knows that makes him an edgy little shit, but honestly. He gets to be another person. He’s not Peter or Spider-Man. He’s a whole new level of himself. He’s a whole new level of disappointment, and for once he doesn’t care. Or at least he can manage to pretend he doesn’t. 

He keeps up a routine. Some strangers, some games, some getting wasted. Some blowing May off, some crashing at MJ’s. May hasn’t yelled at him yet, and MJ hasn’t turned him away. So it works. 

It works until he fucks up on a whole different level. A get-Tony-Stark-involved level. He doesn’t mean to. It’s just that one night he’s on his way to MJ’s and he misses a web and falls. He’s stranded in an alley, and he tells Karen to call MJ for help. But somehow she calls Tony instead. Because nothing can ever be easy for Peter.

The next morning MJ kicks Peter awake.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey!” 

“Ah, what? I’m up. Jeez.” He jolts up and groans. Sleeping on the floor is doing wonders for his back. Wonders, meaning awful things. And hangovers with advanced senses are great. Great, meaning awful.

“I met Tony Stark yesterday.” MJ steps over Peter and sits on her creaky bed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I know he like, sold weapons of mass destruction to countries at war, but he seems nice enough.”

“Oh... wait, how did you meet him?”

“Peter, you absolute dumbass. He took you here.”

“No, he- no. h my god. Oh my god. I yelled at him. MJ, I totally yelled at Mr. Stark last night.” He drops his head in his knees. 

“Wow. That was stupid. We talked about you.” She crosses her legs and shifts up the bed in anticipation.

“No...”

“Yeah. I told him that you’ve been acting like an idiot lately.”

“That’s not fair.” Peter kicks the makeshift floor-bed off of himself and struggles to a standing position. 

“How so?” MJ rolls her eyes.

Peter drops his arms to his sides. He thinks for a moment and shrugs dramatically.

“I don’t know. It’s just not.” He bends over to pick up the blankets from the floor and awkwardly attempts to fold them.

“Sounds like a you problem.” MJ stands and knocks the blankets out of his hands. 

“Those were there before you were. You’re messing up the ecosystem of my room.” 

Peter sighs. 

“Yeah, well I’m going home today so I’ll be out of your hair.” 

MJ’s gaze pours into his own. Gross.

“I wish I could believe you.”

Peter doesn’t like disappointing people, but it seems to be the thing he best at.

The lights are all on at home when he gets there, which is weird for noon on a Wednesday. May should be at work. He swallows his apprehension and ventures into the apartment. He heads straight for his room. But of course, May is standing in the doorway staring inside. 

“Hey, May.” He goes for nonchalant.

She whips around and immediately wraps him in a hug. He blinks before cautiously wrapping his arms around her. 

“Hey, May,” He repeats.

She stands back and pushes her glasses up her nose.

“Where- where have you been?”

“Patrol and MJ’s, remember?” 

That’s what does it. That’s what makes her cry. It’s a stab in the gut. He did that.

He follows her into the living room and sits beside her on the shabby couch, unsure what else to do. 

May studies his face for a moment before reaching for his head and tucking a strand of messy hair behind his ear. 

“Peter, please don’t lie to me. No more. No more lies. Just tell me the truth. Please.” 

“What? I don’t- how-“ 

“Tony Stark called me this morning.”

He blinks and shakes his head before stumbling to his feet. 

“No.”

“He told me everything. What were you thinking?”

“He had no right-“ 

Peter steps back.

“He thinks you’re in trouble.”

Trapped. He feels trapped. He ignores her protests as he dashes for his room. 

He grabs the mask and throws open his window. He’s too angry to be discreet as he climbs to the roof.

“Karen, call Mr. Stark.” 

“Calling Tony Stark.”

The phone barely rings before he picks up.

“Hey ki-“

“No right. You have no right to talk to her.” He can hear his own pulse in his ear. 

“Hold on a minute. This is about last night?” 

“Yes! Yes, this is about last night,” Peter fumes. 

“Well, then we must remember things differently. Because I’m pretty sure you’re the one with no leg to stand on.” 

“No leg to- no! Mr. Stark, we agreed. Don’t talk to May. Ever. We only told her what we had to. Past that I don’t want... I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to...” He can feel himself fizzling out.

“Um, hello? What else am I supposed to do? You’re acting... more irresponsible than usual. Angry, rash. Unlike you.” 

“I’m fine,” he spits, “and it’s- that- that’s not your problem really.” 

“Oh, but it is. It really is. I’m responsible for you, kiddo, whether you like it or not. And I’m worried about you. Your friends are worried about you. May is-“

“I’m fine! I’m fine.”

“I know how these things work. You think you’re fine, and it’s just a little fun, just a little something different, but it becomes a habit. You rely on it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Michelle told me this isn’t a first. So, I checked the logs on your suit and apparently before that you were patrolling practically nonstop. And Karen picked up something weird. Your charts are off the hook. Ridiculously high heart rate, hardly any sleep at all, you never sit still for more than an hour at a time, near constant shortness of breath, and the list goes on.” 

There’s a horrible silence.

“You’re not fine, kiddo.” 

He knows Tony’s right. He’s got nothing to say for himself. What could he?

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

He takes a shaky breath.

“I think you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! Nothing makes me happier than comment emails from AO3 so please lemme know what you think! I have more Spider-Man fics in the works, so stick around?


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